Thirty Seconds
by Kainos Ktisis
Summary: She needed…had to have just this one moment to herself. A minute, no not even that. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to give herself up to despair. Thirty seconds and no more. Twoshot. Cloti.
1. Tick

**Disclaimer:** Tifa, Cloud and all other Final Fantasy VII characters are property of Square-Enix. I merely borrow them for artistic purposes.

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><p><strong>THIRTY SECONDS<strong>

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><p>"Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity."<p>

- Henry Van Dyke

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><p><em>Tick.<em>

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The second hand was a hammer against her brain.

Tifa pressed the heel of her hand deep against her eye socket and took in a deep breath. She had to remain calm, had to remain balanced. She couldn't help anyone if she broke down.

The clock hung high on the white-washed wall of the clinic mocked her with its steadfast march around the numbers.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The city of Mideel was a peaceful one, and it was strange to settle in a place where there were no constant groans of straining metal and no loud drunken voices brawling in the alleys. There was something wholesome on this island, with its elderly population mixed with the random speals of genuine laughter from young children.

Everything felt so wholesome. Healthy. Normal.

And Tifa was here tending to a comatose Cloud.

She'd never hated irony more.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The persistent ticktocking intruded on her thoughts once more. She wanted to rip the damn thing from the wall and trample it beneath her feet. It reminded her that time was an enemy, that the longer Cloud lingered in this state, the less likely he'd make a recovery.

She shook her head to rid herself of both the clock and of her own useless thoughts. It was a waste of time to bother with such thoughts. Cloud needed her, and she intended to be at full strength for him.

With a cheery smile she didn't quite feel, she took up the bowl of soup on the table and sat down next to Cloud on the hospital bed. She brushed back a pale lock of hair that always fell into his eyes, especially now that his head bobbed up and down as if the muscles in his neck had forgotten how to function.

"Hey Cloud, look what we have for lunch today. Smells like a nice and creamy clam chowder. Granny Liza makes a mean clam chowder," she said as she scooped a small spoonful and held it up to his lips. His head continued its constant nodding and several times he almost dipped his nose into the spoon.

Tifa put the bowl on the nightstand and used her now freed hand to push Cloud's head back so that it rested against the upraised bed. Keeping her hand against his forehead, she took up the spoon again and gently pressed it into his mouth. His slack-jawed mouth barely took any of it in, most of the soup dribbling down his chin and onto his hospital gown. She bit back the tears of frustration that made her want to scream.

She'd been here for only twenty-four hours and already she felt flayed raw by the persistent feeling of helplessness, both hers and Cloud's.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

She scooped up most of the soup that had trickled out of his mouth, and tried again, this time making sure that there was only a third of the amount she'd had before. This seemed to work better; at least nothing spilled out of his mouth.

She could do this. They could do this.

It took nearly half an hour just to finish feeding him the soup, small mouthfuls at a time, but eventually the bowl was emptied. She went to the bathroom and wet a cloth with warm water before returning to him to wipe the remaining soup from his jaw and neck. Any other time her hands would have trembled to touch the smooth skin there and the strong tendons that corded his neck. But today, she was only struck by the utter incongruity of it all.

Cloud was the epitome of physical perfection. His masculine beauty made her want to weep and the lean strength of him made her want to shiver with feminine satisfaction. And yet…

Yet here he was, a veritable vegetable trapped inside his own mind.

It wasn't fair.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

Tifa should have known better. She'd been shown time and again, up close and personal, that life had no considerations for fairness. It simply _was,_ and she was but a pawn in a game she'd never wanted to play.

Her fingers trailed down to Cloud's soiled hospital gown. She should change that. She briefly considered helping him to a bath, but they'd already done that yesterday, and her face flamed at the memory.

No, she'd just change the gown. The doctor had suggested washing him only every other day anyway.

With as detached a manner as she could (she tried to take into consideration the potential embarassment he might feel if he remembered this episode when he came back because she refused to believe that he wouldn't recover), she stripped off the gown easily and discarded it. She tossed the sheets over his naked body even though it would only take a minute to grab another hospital gown. She didn't think Cloud would appreciate his body being aired to the public when he was in this condition, even if it would only be for the briefest moments.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

With a clean hospital gown in hand, she pulled down the sheet so that his torso was bared. She started to thread one of his arms through the sleeve, but she paused when she spotted the scar right in the middle of his chest.

Dropping his arm gently, her fingers unconsciously touched the puckered flesh. It was such a small scar, but one that told of something lethal. For the first time, she realized that Sephiroth's blade had actually pierced _through_ Cloud's sternum. She wondered once again how it was possible that Sephiroth had missed his heart. Then again, maybe he _had_ gone straight through it, and it was only Hojo's experiments that had saved Cloud.

The thought put a disgusting taste in her mouth, but she had to acknowledge that she owed Hojo Cloud's life at the very least.

Then again, what had living an extra five years gained Cloud but another trip to misery? And now, here he was, comatose and for all she knew, his mind was reliving those horrifying years trapped inside a tube.

She shuddered and wished that she had been—was, is, _will be_—stronger. Maybe if she had been stronger, she'd have been able to stop Sephiroth from setting Nibelheim ablaze. Maybe her father wouldn't have been murdered. Maybe Zack and Cloud wouldn't have been thrown into the hands of a madman. Maybe Aeris would be alive. Maybe Cloud wouldn't be in this condition right now.

It was that last that brought her down because she really _could_ have changed it. The others she knew she'd had little control over, but she'd made the conscious decision to keep the true events of Nibelheim to herself. She chose to ignore all the signs of Cloud's dementia and opted instead to indulge herself in self-delusions.

Foolish, idiotic, stupid.

She'd been and done everything Master Zangan had trained her _not_ to do.

And now, Cloud was here, nodding his head in agreement to some unheard evil and lost in a nightmare of her own doing.

A wretched sob wrenched out of her.

No. She can't do that. Can't fall apart. But she needed…

She needed,_ had to have,_ just this one moment to herself. A minute, no not even that. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to give herself up to despair. Thirty seconds and no more.

_Tick tick tick tick_

_Tock tock tock tock_

The tick-tocking of the clock kept track for her the seconds she had until she had to pull herself together again. Thirty seconds.

The first tear dropped with twenty-eight seconds to spare. The second followed quickly on its heel until her vision blurred with wetness. Her throat clogged, a strangled sound coming out that was both anguish personified and self-recrimination.

With twenty seconds to go, she was openly weeping and though she hadn't wanted to break down in front of Cloud—whether he was cognizant or not—she couldn't stop herself from dipping her head into the space between his neck and shoulder. Hot tears ran down bare, male skin as she lost control over her body and over her emotions. Hands clutching, her fingers dug into the strong muscles of his upper arm. It was not a pretty weeping, but one that had her body convulsing in heaving sobs, and she couldn't bring herself to care.

_Tick_

_Tock_

_Tick_

_Tock_

Like an internal alarm had been set, she was suddenly aware that her thirty seconds were up and that the measured cadence of the clock beat on, mindless of her agony.

Reluctant, she let her logic pull her back from the edge, and slowly her breathing evened out, even as hiccups snuck out in staccatoed bursts. She had her thirty seconds. Now she needed to be strong.

She should have remembered that succumbing once to her despondency would make it that much easier to do it again.

But she refused. She was stubborn and she could beat this. She would nurse Cloud back to health and then they were going to send Sephiroth back to whatever hell he came from.

And then, for the first time in years, she was going to really _live_.

In the back of her mind, the clock kept ticking.

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><p>AN: Yup, another angsty-piece from me. (By the way, was anybody else totally thrown off by the new fanfiction(dot)net user format?) I know I've taken some liberties with what Tifa knows about Cloud's past at this point in the game. Artistic license? Haha...anyhow, I'd appreciate it mucho if you drop a review. Thanks!


	2. Tock

A/N: I couldn't resist. As much as I liked the first part from an artistic perspective, the hopeless romantic in me demanded a...response, if you will. In any case, thank you so very much for the reviews. I hope you all enjoy this second part as well! Thanks!

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><p>Cloud isn't sure if what he sees is real.<p>

Too much of what he's been seeing recently are terrifying hallucinations and twisted memories and they confuse him by screwing with the flow of time until todaytomorrowyesterday are an indistinguishable blur.

He is so used to of the pervasive evil in his mind that it startles him to see something _good_.

And seeing Tifa has always been good.

Well, maybe only mostly good because sometimes he sees her and feels this sharp ache in his chest that is part guilt and part something else he hadn't been able to name until he finally, _finally_ remembers that he is nothing but a fake.

It's failure.

He's always been a failure and seeing Tifa triggers memories he's tried so hard to suppress because she is the one he's been trying to impress all along, and no one can deny that he has messed up miserably in that regard.

Even still, guilt and failure cannot stop the warmth of knowing she's here (really, really here and holding him and caring for him) from spreading deliciously through his body. He cannot command his limbs to move, but he doesn't want to be anywhere else anyway. He does wish though that he could touch her and reassure her like she always does for him.

He watches like a spectator, mind annoyingly detached from his body, as Tifa tries to spoon some soup into his mouth. Shame blazes through him when his mouth doesn't cooperate and the soup spills over his lips. He hates his weakness and he hates being so vulnerable. The thought of being vulnerable in front of _her_ isn't so bad but he wants to be her protector, not her patient…

His thoughts stall momentarily when he suddenly feels her gentle fingers trace the ugliness of the scar on his chest. He wants to shove her hands away because her kind, comforting hands should not be stroking the same place that such a malignant evil has touched.

He cannot stop her, nor can he stop the flush of warmth—both from embarrassment and something else that brings to mind thoughts of lips and mouths and frantic touches and earthy moans—from threading through his veins.

Somehow, her touch is a benediction. The evil feels like it's been purged under her fingertips and he is branded. He tests the idea of not being marked by iniquity for once, and he finds that he likes it.

Suddenly, he wants her touch all over him.

Part of it (a lot of it) is sexual, but it is equal parts a desire to be absolved. He knows with a bone deep certainty that she can be his peace.

Then in the next moment Tifa is is tears and Cloud is straining, straining, _straining_ so damn hard against the binds his mind has placed on his body. He wants to hold her, to comfort her but he is trapped and betrayed by himself.

Somewhere in his mind he hears the thought _thirty seconds_ and he somehow understands that Tifa needs the time to grieve, to give her emotions a place to vent before she can rebuild her walls. He wishes she would rebuild her walls with him inside. He wishes there was another way for her to regain her strength because this…

This breaks his heart in a way he's not sure he can recover from.

Then just as abruptly, the fountain of tears cease and though Tifa doesn't have full control over the full-body hiccups yet, her breathing has calmed and she is still. She doesn't move her head from its position against his neck and he's glad.

He doesn't want her to move. He likes the idea of being her rock.

He doesn't know if it that was really only thirty seconds; all he knows is that every drop of crystalline liquid that fell from her eyes felt like an eternity.

He wants to hold her for an eternity.

So he swears.

He swears to himself that the next time Tifa breaks, he will be there to catch her.

He hears a distant ticking and prays that _this_ time, he won't be too late.


End file.
